


That Game We Played

by LiberAmans214



Series: Valentine's 2020 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Thermostat, But is tired of his shit, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel is Not Oblivious (Supernatural), Castiel is So Done with Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Domestic Dean Winchester, M/M, Naked Castiel (Supernatural), Naked Cuddling, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, hot castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberAmans214/pseuds/LiberAmans214
Summary: “You know what?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He really is trying to be less of a jerk - but he can’t seem to help it. It’s Valentine’s day, and it’s hot. So he decides to stop talking, and takes off his jacket, a deep blue leather utility, and shucks it away on a counter.Cas seems to find this interesting, his eyes following Dean around the room; so then Dean does the first thing that comes to mind.He walks over to Cas, and holds his hand out.Cas stares at it, like he’s trying to figure out the purpose of its existence. Dean helps him, because he’s awesome like that.“Yourcoat.”Because why the fuck not?
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Valentine's 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641109
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	That Game We Played

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** It's Valentine's day, Sam has gone out with Eileen, Dean and Cas are stuck in the bunker without dates or anything to do ...... The air conditioning stops working, it gets real hot and sweaty and they both decide they are wearing too many layers ....

“So?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, starting to walk down the stairs with an angel by his side. They’ve just finished waving Sam and Eileen off to their date - which is exactly what it sounds like; he stood in the doorway, and Cas smiled from the doorway, until Sam’s car disappeared down the road. “Dinner?”

“Of course.” Cas nods. 

He’s not going to eat, but there’s a little something called company. Dean doesn’t want to eat alone. And what’s more, Dean’s even going to set up a plate for him. He started doing so a while back, cause otherwise it’s just like Cas is there to watch him.

And be it eating or sleeping - that’s always weird.

Walking all the way to the kitchen feels like trekking towards the centre of the Earth. Dean scrubs his face in annoyance, exhaling impatiently. He’s supposed to get used to it. 

It’s really hot. And they’re underground, in a windowless bunker. A bunker with a broken air-conditioner - it’s ancient; so that’s justifiable, was the general consensus, but Dean’s willing to bet it all boils down to their exceptional Chuck-induced bad luck, and Fortuna just wasn’t a good enough godly mechanic.

Or maybe she never anticipated that heroes could get hot, too. Sweating is for the weak and the transient - or some shit. Dean can practically picture her sneer.

Jesus, he hates her.

“Do you need help?” Cas says, once they’re in the kitchen. Dean turns around to blink at him, while he returns to the present. Cas manages to make it sound like were Dean to say yes, Cas would actually help him prepare food. 

Now, Cas is good for a lot of stuff. Strong, strategic, trustable instincts. Brave. But he isn’t worth shit in the kitchen. Dean isn’t really sure if Cas knows that but he hopes, for his sake, that he does. 

Yet, it’s an earnest question, ridiculous or not, so Dean earnestly shakes his head in response. “I made dinner while the rest of you were busy helping Sam choose a corset.”

It’s the kind of hot where Dean’s automatically surly. Sure, he generally is too - but right now, he doesn’t even have to try. 

“It was his shirt.” Cas corrects, simply, and Dean rolls his eyes at the walls as he turns around to get plates. “My advice was to go with the pecan.”

“Was he wearing a pie?” Dean throws back, dryly. He’s got the plates. Now he puts them on the table, and turns to fetch spoons. Cas is still standing, because of course he is. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Pecan’s a shade of brown.” Cas states for the record, and Dean’s getting tired of Cas not going along with his lines. 

And he’s really getting tired of the goddamn heat. 

“Too bad. Now I want dessert. Way to ruin burgers, Cas.” Dean snaps, and Cas looks a little startled - and would you look at that. Even Cas is sweating. There’s beads of sweat on his forehead, and his coat seems even more uncomfortable than usual. 

Suck it, Fortuna. Real heroes sweat. 

“You know what?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He really is trying to be less of a jerk - but he can’t seem to help it. It’s Valentine’s day, and it’s hot. So he decides to stop talking, and takes off his jacket, a deep blue leather utility, and shucks it away on a counter. 

Cas seems to find this interesting, his eyes following Dean around the room; so then Dean does the first thing that comes to mind. 

He walks over to Cas, and holds his hand out. 

Cas stares at it, like he’s trying to figure out the purpose of its existence. Dean helps him, because he’s awesome like that.

“Your _coat_.” 

Because why the fuck not?

“Oh.” Cas unstiffs - Dean isn’t kidding, that’s an actual thing he can do, okay - and almost rewards Dean with a smile. Just like that, he’s wriggling out of his trenchcoat, the sleeves not clinging to his jacket because apparently that only happens to him. Or probably because the coat classifies as oversized, even after all these years. 

Once he’s removed it, Cas folds it from the middle like he’s never folded a coat before, and hands it to Dean. 

“Great. Let’s sit down.” Dean tells him, putting his coat away on the same slab where he’s deposited his own. When he turns around, Cas is sitting, and has folded his arms on the table. The bunker lights, like his eyes, linger on Cas’s jacket. 

To be fair, he doesn’t usually get to do this - because Cas doesn’t usually take off his trench. Guy’s emotionally attached to it or something. 

But he looks - well, so much better without it. Obviously, Dean’s not referring to the way the black makes him look broader, or the buttons draw attention to the suit’s tapered waist. He just looks a lot more comfortable, compared to before. 

Speaking of. 

It’s still so fucking hot. 

“Dean,” Cas begins randomly, once they’re both sitting. Dean’s about to start eating but he stops at Cas’s voice, soft and unsure. “I need to ask you something.”

For some reason, Dean swallows. “Yeah?”

“It is Valentine’s day, after all.” Cas justifies preemptively, and Dean looks up at him. 

“So?”

“Is this a date?” Cas finally asks, blue eyes boring into Dean’s, something profound in his words.

Dean pretty much stops thinking, as if on cue. “What? No.” He gets up. He shouldn’t have gotten up. He’s already up. “Is this about dinner? Jesus, Cas,” He hopes he sounds exasperated, he’s trying to. “Hell, is this about me taking your coat before you sit? It’s burning up, man, what do you expect me to do?”

Cas stands up too, wordlessly. 

He looks like he’d still like an answer. He looks like he might even repeat the question. 

Before something else - something worse can happen, Dean’s picked up his plate. “I’m going to have dinner in my room. Feel free to…do whatever you want. Apparently, It’s Valentine’s day.” He adds, halfways to a scoff, as he marches out of the room. 

(Remember how Dean’s stopped thinking? Yeah.)

Cas picks up both of their coats before walking away, a few minutes later. There’s something heavy in the air, left behind.

*

Dean’s done eating. 

And because this is his life - his sad, pathetic life- his entire room has somehow grown even more annoyingly hot.

Burdened with misery all the way down to his sweaty socks, he wonders what Cas is up to.

Dude could be in the library, or his bedroom, or hell, even in the kitchen. He could be reading. Or training. (Or, Dean’s mind drifted, waiting.) What could Cas be doing, aside from stewing in this heat, which seems to be all Dean’s doing at the moment?

Except of course, thinking about Cas. But he doesn’t really count that as a separate activity, anymore. In more ways than one, it’s perpetual.

Well, he convinces himself, as he picks up his plate and walks out of his bedroom, arguably hoping to find Cas - he’s got to put the plates in the sink, at some point.

Dean finds Cas in the hallway, walking towards him - or like, in his general direction, and the first thing Dean notices is that he’s not wearing a fucking jacket anymore.

“Hey.” He stops, shuffling his weight on his feet. He takes up a second to imagine what it would be like if Cas didn’t stop, but then he does - so at least Dean’s got that going on for him.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Cas remarks, matter-of-factly.

His expression’s perfectly serious, but Dean can swear there’s something else there. He can’t put his finger on it- but there’s something off. It’s the way Cas emphasizes the question tag. Or in the way he says the entire damn sentence.

Or maybe, Dean’s just overthinking words to avoid letting himself think about Cas in his white shirt.

His tie’s still in place, but the suit jacket’s gone, and its left the sleeves all crumpled. That’s a possible reason for Cas to have folded the sleeves up to his elbow, putting on display his forearms. And wrists. 

When Dean forces himself to look up from Cas’s hands, he decides that the shirt fits the best of anything else yet, stretched wide over his shoulders and essentially hugging his chest snugly, on the way down.

And it’s so white, that paired with Cas’s tan and the striped blue of his tie, it looks-

“So hot, yeah.” Dean answers, right before the pause that’d begun after Cas spoke, crossed the line to weird. Dean looks at the plate in his hands. “I’m going to put these away.”

“Good idea.” Is all Cas says, coolly - and on a different note, starts to tug at the knot of his tie this way and that, to loosen it. He’s successful almost immediately too, the collar beginning to widen, and -

Dean really doesn’t need to be here for that, so he hurries along his way, walking with his eyes glued to the floor as if that somehow detaches him from existence.

*

This, a hundred percent, has nothing to do with Cas.

It’s hot, is all it is.

Dean peels off his overshirt, leaving just a black t-shirt on - which is not even one of his best ones; it’s probably the one which got exchanged with Sam back in 2014, judging from the way it goes down past his waistline. Dean doesn’t bother folding it as he drops it on the bed. He’s got more important things on his mind.

Such as scoping out a valid reason to go out of his room again.

*

Almost an hour later, Dean feels like it’d be okay to venture out. Before leaving, for good measure, Dean removes his belt, too. Unbuckling it instantly eases some of the pressure on his stomach, which has kept on building, ever since this evening started.

Ever since Sam and Eileen left for their date, leaving him and Cas alone in the bunker with a broken AC.

On Valentine’s day.

Which, Dean frowns to himself, is a rather inconsequential piece of information to add to that pile.

He warns himself against thinking on those lines again, and strides out of his room. He can sense there’s someone in the War room, so in order to sound like he really needs the thing, he starts speaking from the hallway. “Heya, Cas, have you see the -”

There’s no good explanation for why he stops talking.

Except, maybe there is. 

Maybe there’s the best explanation ever, right in front of him, perched on the corner of a table. Maybe it’s got an unbuttoned shirt, and majorly fucked-up hair. Maybe it’s got abs, and chest hair, and hipbones; and maybe it’s all the reason that Dean Winchester’s ever required, for anything in his life. 

He’d lay down his life for it. Hell, he could probably live for that very reason.

“Have I seen the…?” Cas repeats, his left eyebrow hooked. Has that ever happened before? Just that one, arched perfectly, as if demanding all the finished sentences in the entire world.

Dean clears his throat.

He isn’t sure what he’s thinking about, but he can still tell it’s a mistake.

“Nevermind.” He lets out, in a voice which sounds wrong, even to him.

“Alright.” Cas nods in acknowledgement, and with that, turns back to his book. It’s a giant, musty book- but then, all their books are giant and musty, and Dean cannot decipher what’s written on it, because he’d really rather stare at Cas’s hands holding it.

“Don’t you think,” Dean licks his lips. Even his throat is dry. “Wouldn’t you say it’s getting a little too hot in here?”

“I’m doing what I can.” Cas replies, managing to stuff in a little bit of distressed in there, with the general flatness. “Clearly, so are you.”

In a couple of beats, Dean realizes he’s run out of words to say, and Cas doesn’t look too eager to supply his own to keep this conversation alive, so then Dean chuckles - to say the least, awkwardly, and retires to his room again.

*

He’s going to show Cas how much better he can do.

*

“It’s, so, hot.” Dean grits his teeth, pulling the shirt over his head. Now he’s naked from up the waist, and it feels a lot better.

This isn’t a typically humid area, so it’s not like being shirtless is gonna get him sticky. Or any more sweaty, than he already is. In fact, it feels so much better, that Dean almost manages to convince himself that that’s why he’s doing it.

Almost.

There’s no ignoring anymore, that it’s Valentine’s day. And he and Cas are alone in the bunker, and it’s really hot, but that’s not just it.

It kind of never was.

Dean falls back on the bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. An image of Cas floats through his head, and though he really shouldn’t be thinking about Cas right now - half-naked, and on a bed - he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s evident Cas knows what’s going on here.

(It’s evident Cas knows what he’s doing to Dean.)

And Dean feels a pang of something, when he realizes he’s losing this - whatever this is. He may have started it off by being a dick, but he’s lagging behind now.

It’s really more about how much Cas gets to Dean, than about the number of layers he took off. And who’s Dean kidding? He isn’t getting to Cas at all.

(At least, it hasn’t ever felt like it.)

Dean sighs.

He’s too far gone.

And Cas is leaning on a table and holding a book, with an unbuttoned shirt and his fucking smolder, waiting to tell Dean it’s really hot.

He unbuttons his jeans.

Screw this, it’s over a hundred degrees.

Still thinking about Cas, he undoes his zipper, and pushes them down his legs. It’s only when they’re pooled around his ankles, that it strikes him how fucking gone he is, on Cas. 

The realization doesn’t help at all.

He steps out of his jeans, and clenches his jaw.

*

This isn’t the time to think about feelings, and it’s not the time to ponder his relationship with Cas. It’s time to get out there.

So he does.

He walks fast enough, that it’s ironically not hot anymore. Exposure to air makes his legs feel a lot cooler, and though his boxer briefs cling to his thighs, it all feels somewhat freeing.

When he reaches the War Room, Cas isn’t there.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swears under his breath, starting to walk down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Cas there either, and not even in the kitchen, and then -

“Dean?”

Dean jerks his neck around to face Cas. For the first time, Cas’s eyes seem to have deviated from their lifelong mission to stare Dean down - instead they’re focussed, oddly, on the only part of Dean which is still covered; and his lips are parted a little bit, but -

But he’s also completely fucking naked.

“Cas.” Dean growls, not wasting more than a second to take in all of Cas - eyes glancing over the parts he’d already gotten acquainted to, and hurrying to ogle his thighs, his ass, his fucking dick - and then, letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, he’s pushing Cas against a wall, and crashing his lips on his.

He’s kissing Cas.

Cas gives back as he gets, grabbing hold of Dean, and pulling him closer with hands around his neck, as his tongue shoves into Dean’s mouth. Dean groans, but it gets lost in Cas’s mouth - eyes rolling back in his head, as his hip thrusts wilder, shoving Cas against the wall harder and pinning him there.

“Fuck, Cas, I - hnghhh -” He pants, in a raised voice, wanting to explain, apologize, proposition - everything at fucking once, but he breaks off with a whimper when he feels Cas’s dick against the fabric of his boxers, exciting his own dick even more.

Cas seems to be more interested in kissing him than his dick lets off - moving in perfect tandem with Dean, eyes completely shut and eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating on this; and he really is. He’s kissing Dean like nothing else matters - he’s kissing Dean like this is it, and he’s right, he’s so fucking right.

This is it.

Sparks fly when they kiss, and there’s current in his veins when Cas holds him. It thunders in his ears when Cas pulls Dean close, and all his walls collapse when he cries out Dean’s name.

This, right here, pushing and tugging, and desperate and breathless - this is them. This is everything their lives have been leading up to. This is truly and utterly it.

When Cas’s arms go around his waist, bringing him in tighter, Dean just has to pull away for breath.

Pupils blown, he grunts, accusing because he doesn’t know what he’d be, if not mad. “You ruined the game - or fucking whatever that was, Cas, you fucking ruined it -”

“I think I won the game, Dean.” Cas declares, jaw squared, and lips returning to that thin frown - but Dean does not want to be subjected to it anymore, so he dives in to tug it straight, but Cas cups his face, and kisses him instead, all the way there but just so soft - and Dean’s never been kissed like this before. He’s never known anything like it.

“Yeah, okay, fuck.” Dean gasps, when Cas’s hand slides under the elastic of his boxers, and takes his dick in hand. “Yeah, you win.” He adds, and they’re the last coherent words he gets out in a long while, as his head falls on Cas’s shoulder, hand on the wall propping him up, and he loses what little had remained of his senses.

*

Their chests still heave and Dean’s still lying half on Cas’s arm, absolutely boneless in the way sex makes people.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, and there’s something twinkling - so beautiful, in his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m just asking to confirm, but was this because of the heat too?” This time, he sounds playful. He’s just egging Dean on. 

So of course, Dean refuses to accept anything out loud. 

He just turns to his side, and burrows himself around Cas. He knows it’s probably too hot to cuddle, but when he gently puts his head on Cas’s shoulder, Cas just hooks his chin on it like they’re in a frigging chick-flick. And that’s okay, just because. 

“Fine. Happy Valentine’s day to you, okay?”

Cas doesn’t say anything to that, but when his arm comes around Dean, there’s something smug about it. 

And Dean loves it.


End file.
